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santipietroepaolo · 3 years ago

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Hello there, may I ask prompt 25 for Angelica/Nadia and/or 80 for Aureliano/Spadino? ❤️

(Angst, post-finale) Sorry I made this so sad 😭 I hope you don’t mind!

[Read on Ao3]

25. "Come cuddle" + 80. "I didn't drive all this way just to say hey."

Flavio’s sweet brown eyes were so dug out and hollow, Angelica felt like she could see age settle in real time over his boyish features. “Stay at my place,” he had said – or rather, rasped out, his voice as quiet as the waves– and Angelica had dragged her shaking hand on his shoulder in wordless thanks. The hotel, the silence there, the bed Nadia had shared with Aureliano: no way they could go back there – not that day– maybe not ever.

Nadia had offered no resistance. She’d let herself be pulled away from that beach, vacant and unsteady, like a helmless ship, her sails empty of breath. With her arms tied around her Angelica would not have been able to tell if she was really helping her along, or just getting dragged limply in her wake. She had no place to go herself. Home wasn’t home and her Queendom was ash.

Flavio drove off as silently as he’d driven in, leaving half of their men behind as protection. Off to keep fighting a war, their war, one Angelica had no strength left in her body to stand for.

As far as she was concerned, they had already lost everything.

The request had come wordless, in the form of a pull, a beggar tug of Nadia’s hand dragging Angelica into the small unmade bed with her. Hold me. Angelica had no comfort left to give but she wrapped herself around the other woman nonetheless. She didn’t flinch at the nails sinking into her back, nor at the screams Nadia drowned against her chest for most of that scorching summer day. Maybe if she squeezed her tight enough, they could melt together, just like that. Idols of wax just begging to disappear.

Nadia wailed into her, and Angelica thought of the statues of the Virgin, of their glass tears shining in the dim-lit nooks of secret arches, of tall church halls and the walls of her People’s houses. She had cried so much herself that her tears burned trenches down her face, acid melting down her mask, her flimsy facade of strength. Tears for herself, for her father, for Nadia, for Alberto, for Aureliano, for her daughter, for her daughter, for her daughter.

Holy Mary, Mother of God, is this how hollow you felt?

“I lied to him,” Nadia whispered, hours later when she became too tired to cry, “I told him I loved him.”

“You did love him,” Angelica whispered back.

She was brushing back Nadia’s hair, soothing down her feverish forehead, damp from pain and the effort of grief. Aureliano’s ring was still between them, lodged on Nadia’sindex finger, warmed up by her boiling skin and trembling lips– much warmer than its owner. Angelica felt just like that chunk of silver: livened only by that woman’s touch.

Nadia shook her head.

“I do. But not the way he thought – not the way I should have.”

She looked up at Angelica as if she had answers, as if she could, in any way, help.

“Angè, he just looked so sad.”

Her poor eyes. Angelica did not need to imagine how much they burned – she felt it on herself.

“You did your best,” Angelica swore to her, “Na’, we all did. We all did.”

That much was true – except it hadn’t been enough. That, Angelica did not say. She just welcomed Nadia back against her and tried not to linger on the part of herself that weakly wondered how Alberto was doing, in that moment – where he was – how hollow he felt. She and Nadia had that bed, that ring, each other. Alberto had spat on all of that. What did that leave him with?

She spared a prayer for him too.

***

Everything on that shore was different, but the sea was always the same.

“Ciao, Aurelià. It’s been a minute.”

Spadino stood facing the waves, at the same spot he always did – the same spot he had stood on that distant dawn, too. One hand in his pocket, the other ferrying the cigarette to and from his mouth. There used to be sand under his feet there, but nowadays, it was all concrete.

“I’m not here long. Came by to help out the girls – same as usual. You know how it is.”

He blew out the smoke, slow. Making it last. The time for one cigarette – that was what Spadino always allowed himself, in that place. Only one, because he knew that if he stayed there any longer, there was a good chance he’d never be able to leave.

“It’s Cinaglia’s turn, today,” he started up again, dusting off his ash to the wind, “I know, ‘already’? What can I say, I haven't been standing around. I may be biting off more than I can chew, with this one, though. I’ll grant you that. But the more I wait, the harder he gets to reach – and his time has been way past due for a while, now. Don’t you think?”

Spadino took in another drag, wincing at the bitter taste. Christ, that cigarette was bad. Luckily it was the last of the pack he had left from Poland – the one that had come offered with the very handy, long-distance rifle he had bought there. A real bargain, but judging by the state of the seller’s teeth, Spadino was lucky the bonus gift hadn’t been more generous.

“Anyway. I didn’t drive all this way just to say ‘hey’ and talk shop. I’ve got something for you.”

He had long traded his old flashy hoodies for much more anonymous suits, these days, but those weren’t nearly as roomy as far as pocket space went. Spadino shoved the cigarette in his mouth to free his hands and fished the gift from his inner lapel.

Well, it wasn’t really a gift, so much as a return. Spadino unfolded the beanie, carefully, dragging his hand across the well-worn surface with a fond smile.

“I got it from Angè on my first homecoming – Zaccardelli’s turn, if you recall. Though I should give it back. Don’t worry, I’ve gotten plenty of use out of it – threadbare, this thing is.”

Spadino pulled in a deep drag from the cigarette and pressed the beanie to his lips, for old time’s sake. There was no trace left of Aureliano’s smell – not even the ghost of it. The smoke had nothing to do with that fact: the smell had been light to begin with, and it had faded from the fabric long ago, even before Spadino shoved the beanie to the back of the drawer where it had remained buried. He’d been way too greedy with it way back then – breathed it all in and kissed it all off, because he was young and foolish and thought of it as an infinite resource, just like Aureliano’s presence in his life.

There was a handrail, now, approximately where the shoreline used to be. Spadino knelt in front of it and draped the beanie over the top of a short metal pole. A gust of wind would surely blow it off in no time – send it flying to the sea below. That was sort of the point.

“Badali turned this place into ground zero,” Spadino murmured, “but it’s still yours. It should have something of you.”

On his knees, quietly, he let himself lean forward, and pressed his forehead against the surface of the beanie. He closed his eyes. The waves were quiet, and the metal cold underneath the fabric. That didn’t fully break the immersion: Aureliano’s forehead had been freezing the last time Spadino had kissed it, too.

“His turn will come,” Alberto whispered, “I promise. All in due time.”

Opening his eyes again, he straightened himself back up. He meant to pull in another drag, but when he did, the incandescent tip burned the skin between his fingers, tearing an annoyed hiss from him. There was no cigarette left on the filter. Spadino flicked the whole stubby thing away.

“Looks like time’s up,” he sighed.

He looked at the beanie again, then at the sea. The waves were lazy, just like they had been that day, when the dusk was grey and the sand still there – sated, from having just swallowed him.

The tattoo at the back of Spadino’s head had healed over for a while, now, but whenever he was about to leave that place, it always itched. He scratched absent-mindedly at one of the wings that framed the eight-ball design, half-hidden under a fuzz of hair. When Nadia had told him about Aureliano’s liking for that sketch, all that time ago, the decision to get it on himself had felt as natural as breathing.

As soon as Cinaglia was dead, if Angelica could stomach to look Spadino's way for more than two seconds, maybe she could help him clean up his haircut, like she used to do. Uncover the signature lines of ink – let everyone know who was back in town.

“I’ll bring our friend Amedeo your regards,” Numero Otto promised, before turning his back on the sea, “Ciao, Aurelià. Until next time.”

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